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Lost Souls: Wilson
''A background story for Wilson of Lost Souls. My childhood was very good until it turned very bad. Losthaven was a paradise for a little boy. Runtlings near the docks to play with and mock, who never begrudged childish cruelty, indeed always laughed right along at the barbs at their expense. No brains, but certainly if all our minds were so simple and our hearts so full the endless wars of our day could be laid to rest. Intelligence is no recipe for virtue, I’ve had enough Illithids clawing in my mind to know that for a fact. I can recall Hester’s voice droning endlessly on, sharp, shrill and loud…three things we pupils were never allowed to be in the Losthaven Library. I would amuse myself by watching the odd rainbow sheen that broke around the edge of my waving hand’s reflection in the ornate mirror that dominated the little room. I remember how we used to play in the sewers, amazing what you could find if you searched the muck long enough. We would wait till one of the stray Toms dismembered some poor rodent and then run the fresh meat to Emillio for pocket money. I don’t know who the hell he sold sewer rat meat to, skavens I suppose, but he would always pay. We were forbidden those trips after my friend Fulmont never came up from the deep pool we dared him to take a dip in. Those sewers always were bad luck, Tomnin, another luckless childhood companion, found a black skull once and hid it under his bed. If I’d know then what I know now I would have told him he was better off throwing the cursed thing back in the offal. I was the one to discover what wisps remained of his family after a Reaper was drawn to his hidden treasure. Most of all though I loved to range the countryside. Catch butterflies in the meadow, swim in the river, try to catch sight of a fairy in the woods. Is it just me or have they lost strength since then? When I was young I would see comical scenes of them wielding swords and axes many times their own size as they fell upon some poor wanderer. Who knows what goes on with the Fae? I’ve avoided them ever since I lost two weeks dancing in a circle of mushrooms. Fun sport for them, but my feet took weeks to heal and I almost starved thanks to the cruel spell. Then the Bezhulder’s came, and my idyllic days ended with their arrival. The guard was not so organized then, and the floating horrors ravaged all down Silver Street. My father was a strong man, but weak willed. Under mental domination he hacked my mother to pieces. I think that memory more than any other drives me to drink. Pryderi took me in, he is a good man. No replacement for my parents: all duty, no love. But he taught me much and my wanderings grew as I put his training to use and learned to live off the land, the trips now extended to weeks long treks. I tried vainly to bring him some nugget of knowledge he did not already have cataloged in his guide. My parents used to take me to the Temple of Discordia and let me dance in the revel and after their passing I pledged myself to Eris in their honor. She is capricious, but she rewards her servants well and many times I have been chosen to act as her Hand in the world. I make sure to sacrifice greatly to her especially then and while the spiritual augmentation I have received is far more fleeting these days, it is still appreciated. I stumbled upon Sirinil’s home once trying to find a shortcut back to Losthaven from the Temple and I knew at once that here was someone that understood me. She tasked me with some gardening and took me into the Ranger fold. I undertook a vision quest, and wandered the desert, a clime I had avoided up till now. I did not have enough water and, delirious, was about to try to bond the Sand Worm when a huge drake stepped in my path. He hesitated and looked at me quizzically, and in that moment I reached out to him and felt his mind. Instead of dinner I became his lifelong companion. Iggy I call him, I don’t know what he calls me. He’s a real terror now, grown much in battle prowess since those first days. Together we rampaged as I took vengeance on all manifestations of evil in this sphere. Underground cities, goblin burrows, rich, corrupt temples, unholy monasteries, over and over again I tried to exorcise my old pain by causing plenty of it in the minions of darkness. I took to telling my stories in bars over too many pints and fell in with the Brotherhood. A better decision I never made, they taught me to go from a maudlin drunk to a jovial one, and now I sing in battle. Once, only a few years back now, some servant of the dark struck me as I danced in the revel and I was stripped of so much intelligence I was barely myself. I wandered north like a simpleton and came upon Fezzik, though I knew him not in that condition. He liked the look of dull stupidity in my eyes and taught me the ways of the Brute. I am greatly augmented now and even more of a terror to my foes. How I love to beat someone with the appendage that until I arrived served them so well! Oh, the look on some haughty drow’s face when you slap him with their own hand! That’s humor folks. And that is pretty much my story, I live like I always have. If you ever need a human companion, we are renown at wringing ever lesson out of our encounters and leading Iggy has taught me much about the ways of generalship...look me up if you are in the mind to cause some glorious slaughter. I am not strong enough to kill Wyrms on my own, but there is no sport I like greater. The halls of Darkhold have shaken thanks to a few of the bands I have been in and I would like nothing more to make them tremble again! 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